


Trims

by Spiria



Category: Tales of Legendia
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 07:45:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiria/pseuds/Spiria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walter has always been a little different, Oscar thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trims

**Author's Note:**

> For Athena, who provided the prompt: Walter and hair care. Then we made a joke about fern-hair, and we laughed at my lame humor.

Oscar knew that for all of his native pride, Walter had his subtle preferences that removed him from their kin. The differences had started with his penchant for single-minded solitude in his childhood, then his emerging recklessness in early adolescence (when Oscar had learned that Walter, though not necessarily an adventurous soul, had an odd passion for challenges that oft brought him bruises and bumps, like the time he’d fallen off a tree during an exercise with his teriques); and by his mid formative years, Walter had become an awkward edge in a corner of the Ferines’ circle.

It was not that anyone doubted his character: None were more loyal than the Merines’ to-be chief guard. He’d simply made himself a figure of authority separate from those close to his age, and he had never once given way to well-intentioned Ferines that desired to know him. It was well that Oscar had therefore intruded on Walter’s solitude in their less than ten years, for now no amount of complaints from his junior cohort ever gave him the decisive boot.

He always came back, and Walter never left.

Their first encounter had been on Oscar’s part, when he’d embarked on a short pursuit of the boy Ferines that, to him, was radiating loneliness in droves. Yet Walter denied the blunt claim with childish anger when confronted, and their relationship turned rocky with a shove to the ground that left young Oscar stunned—bewildered beyond bewilderment at the abrupt rejection.

But it seemed a natural response from someone who was deprived of natural human interaction, so after a long half minute, he stood and patted down his trousers without fuss.

Coming back, he found Walter, all quiet and morose, nursing an injured leg from the fall off of the tree, and rushed on over to his side. It was not a serious injury, though it would be agitated for weeks without treatment.

At first, Walter pursed his lips tight before he eased into a mumble at the bombardment of concerned remarks and questions—then a grumble—then, out of nowhere, he shot up and shoved Oscar again. Then he turned to limp his way back to the village. Unperturbed by dirtied clothes, Oscar flashed him a toothless smile from behind, having lost his front teeth the other day.

“So you _are_ okay.”

And Walter stopped, it being his turn for bewilderment.

And Oscar resolved to be with him from the moment Walter glanced over his shoulders.

They stared long and hard at each other, until Oscar hopped onto his feet and patted down his trousers without fuss a second time. He did this quickly so he could look up and shoot Walter another toothless smile—but the boy had already turned back around and was starting for the village entrance.

“Ah—hey, wait! Don’t go without me!”

When they returned, a Ferines woman stepped up and began gently berating Oscar for soiling his clothes. She received a closed lips smile for her troubles; as she resumed her lecture with fondness, Walter, unseen up to this moment, shuffled to slide out of view. His plan to hide away and tend to his injury alone came to a honking close when Oscar waved goodbye after him, a gesture that attracted the woman’s attention and earned Oscar a very, very ugly scowl from his new friend.

As Oscar and Walter grew older, the elders fussed at them less for soiled clothes and scabbed knees. Young men could take care of themselves, and as Walter was especially independent, capable of taking himself farther from the village than most of its inhabitants, no one contested otherwise. (Except Oscar, who by virtue of his elder status insisted upon badgering Walter.)

Ergo it was during one of those moments of tending to their personal needs that Oscar took a long, hard look at Walter and let out a knowing “ah.”

A pair of scissors in hand, Walter glanced at him. “What,” he said, annoyed.

Walter was freshly fourteen, and that apparently meant a haircut to trim his fringe. He’d been growing it since childhood, though the tips had only reached the top of his brows then. Now, the longest strands brushed against his chin, and it was there that he raised the scissors for a quick, precise cut.

Oscar leaned back against the bed he sat on. It was Walter’s, and the motion crinkled the neatly spread sheets.

“Everyone else has long hair, but you always keep yours short.”

“Yours is the same.”

Oscar leaned forward.

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“It’s your hair,” said Walter, flatly.

“Ah, you know that’s not what I meant.” His gaze wandered to the scissors and Walter’s golden head, and Oscar inclined his head to the side. “I think you’re lopsided.”

“What?”

“You won’t be cutting straight if you do it at that angle,” Oscar explained patiently.

He left the bed and took a seat across Walter. Though the angle was nothing earthshattering and would have minimal effect on appearances, it would not do for a Ferines to cut his hair unsuitably. Reaching with his index and middle fingers, he pushed down Walter’s wrist, and nodded approvingly when the correction seemed right after a few slight adjustments.

“You really should get a mirror in here. What if you cut yourself a bald spot?” He laughed when Walter glowered. “It’s a joke, Walter. A joke. You don’t have to worry about losing hair; you’ve got a lot.”

After the last snip, Walter gathered the stray strands of hair into a small cloth. Then he tied it and took it for immediate disposal, and in that moment recalled one of Oscar’s earlier inane comments.

“I don’t worry about such things.”

“Then wouldn’t it be easier to just let it grow than to think about a haircut every couple of weeks?”

Walter appeared to be of a different opinion, for he made a swift exit without an answer.

Inwardly shrugging, Oscar rested his forearms against the table. He eyed the pair of scissors lying where Walter had left them before he reached for them, grasping delicately at the handle. He sat back and inspected the shiny blades—and through their reflective surfaces saw the messiness of his own overgrown hair, and smiled.


End file.
